Proven Guilty
by You'veBeenJayed
Summary: Kyle is on the run. Some are searching for him to prove his innocence, Cartman to turn him in. What they know: Stan's body was found 7a friday morning, stabbed to death, Kyle's DNA all over the scene. Who needs motive, when there's pure evidence?
1. Consumed in Fire

**Okay, so first thing first, I deleted my story "Just Not Right" because it, well, sucked. Plus, I had no idea where I was going with it. Oh well. I didn't like it much anyway, haha.**

**So here's another attempt—this time it **_**will**_** be better; and it has nothing to do in relation to the other story whatsoever. This is its own new idea. Though I will be doing the chapter titles the same way as the story that I deleted, because that's kind of cool.**

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Consumed in Fire

Sweat dripped down his face. He tripped, stumbling again. His breathes continued coming out heaved and gasping as if breathing in was doing nothing for his lungs. He was drowning without any water.

His clothing was ripped and his hat tilted off the side of his head, showing a short mass of no-longer-curly red hair. It should have been red. That was the way everyone remembered it. But it wasn't. No—this hair was jet black.

He finally risked taking a break—as if his body was giving him a choice—and collapsed. He felt like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Every limb on his body was throbbing in pain.

All he could think of, however, was, _'What have I done?'_

He leaned himself against one of the many trees in the forest he was in. Cuts and bruises littered his body and his hands still felt like they were burning. He looked at them. They glowed red, being consumed in fire, growing, taking over and covering him. He wanted to scream, but the fire entered his lungs, burning him from the inside out.

He snapped awake, gasping again. His hands threw themselves in front of his face. They were fine, normal, cold. His throat was sore, but his lungs were breathing normally now.

Where was he? What time was it? Where was everyone else? Why was he here?

"_Hello, Kyle."_

His breath stopped in his throat, his heart stopped beating, his mind stopped thinking.

"Wh-wha-what?" He gulped down the raspiness in his throat to let his voice come through. "Wh-who?" It was dark out and his vision was limited.

"_You can't possibly say you've forgotten me already,"_ The voice shot chills up his spine. It was filled with hate and maliciousness; and it was directed towards him.

Cold air snaked around his form, constricting him. It felt as if the voice was surrounding him. He felt nervous, scared, paranoid. He wanted to stand up and run as fast as he could without ever looking back, but he was petrified to the spot.

"_It's me: your super best friend Stan,"_ The voice chuckled. _"Ex, anyway."_

His eyes widened. All those questions were answered. All those thoughts jumbled back to him in a tidal wave of confusion and hopelessness. Tears streamed down his dirt-ridden face for the hundredth time.

In the silence, the voice began closing in on him. He could feel it—the fire again mixed with the ice of the voice—but he couldn't see it. He wanted to see it, but at the same time refused to. It got closer, crushing him in pressure. He shut his eyes.

"Kyle!"

"N-No! St-stay away!" He shouted. The voice grabbed him by the shoulders. It felt warm; not like fire either. He calmed down slightly, his breaths evening out. He took comfort in the hands gripping his shoulders, leaning his head onto them.

His green eyes opened to see the voice—except, they weren't green, they were a dirt brown, and they just weren't the same. He saw a blurred, double-vision of someone—of the voice.

"Kyle? Kyle! Don't die on me, Jew!"

He tried to smile. "Stan?"

He passed out.

--

**So, what do you think? Good, yes? Bad, no? I dunno—you tell me! Read and review!**


	2. Blue Bubble Gum

**Did I confuse you with the first chapter? Hah, I hope so! This story will be full of mystery and it's up to you, as the reader, to predict what's going to happen next while waiting on the edge of your seats for the next chapter, that'll just leave you with more questions than the last, until the dramatic, wondrous conclusion!**

**Bwahaha!!**

…**At least that's what I hope will happen.**

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Blue Bubble Gum

"So why'd you do it, Broflovski?"

"I didn't. I couldn't. I swear."

"Don't give me that crap! Give me the truth!"

"I-I—that is the truth!"

"No it's not! I know it's not, the police know it's not, and you know it's not! Now tell me why the hell you killed your best friend before I turn you in to the cops and have you rot in jail!"

Kyle sat in a dimmed room, dark other than the creaky lamp rocking back and fourth over his head. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He ran out of tears long ago. Blood leaked from his mouth from the last time his perpetrator hit him.

"I…didn't do it. I didn't want to, anyway. Or maybe I did. Maybe I did do it. I don't know! I did, or didn't, or wanted, or maybe…" His voice was lost in his babbling once he was struck again. He coughed.

"Stop lying, you stupid fucking Jew! I know you did it," Eric Cartman leaned over the table to stare Kyle right in the face, natural brown eyes meeting unnatural ones.

"I-I…" Kyle just shook his head, turning his face away.

Cartman debated on grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at him, but he thought he would lose it if he saw that pathetic, disgusting face again. That Jew was lying—had to be—and he was going to get the truth out of him. The authorities could wait until he had at least that much information. He shook his head in disgust and left the hurt 20-year-old alone in the dark room.

--

_First Monday Morning, 8am_

_The Coffee Shop_

"Kyle! Hey, Kyle, over here!" Stan called, running over and man-hugging his super best friend since Kindergarten. "You'll never guess what happened!" He was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

Kyle couldn't help but laugh in amusement at his hyped-up friend. "What is it?"

"Guess!"

"Aw, come on, Stan. It's too early to guess stuff this early in the morning,"

"Fine, fine. I'll tell you once we get a couple espressos."

Before going inside, they looked around to examine the streets. It was virtually empty this time of day on a Monday. They shared glances before quickly bringing their lips together.

The two boys walked inside the coffee shop. They each ordered their specified drinks from the rude old waitress. The woman, dressed in stuff her granddaughter was probably wearing, blew a huge bubble with her blue bubble gum and scribbled down their order, before roller-skating away. The redhead and raven-haired boy glanced at each other, snickering when they noticed the wedgie the waitress had.

They shared a few words about work and college and family while they waited for their drinks. The waitress came back again, setting down each of their cups.

"Here ya go." She said in a tone that sounded more like 'I hope you burn yourselves.' With that, she skated away again without so much as asking if they needed anything else.

"Alright, so tell what was so important that you called me down here this early in the morning to have coffee with you," Kyle said, blowing on his coffee slowly and carefully before taking a small sip. He liked it black; especially since he was a diabetic.

Stan, on the other hand, loved putting as much sugar as he possibly could into his coffee. Kyle always told him he might as well just order a cup a sugar and pour a little coffee into it.

Stan smiled brightly up at his Jewish friend, blue eyes shining with excitement. "I'm getting married!"

Kyle thought he had just got shot in the heart by a machine gun.

His eyes glazed over and his shoulders slumped, but he didn't allow his smile to disappear. He knew this day would come eventually. He knew exactly who Stan was marrying, too, and he hated it.

But he would never let Stan know that. He loved Stan and wanted nothing but the best for him.

"That's great, Stan!" Kyle said, patting Stan's hand on the table.

Stan nodded, his gaze dropping to the side. He coughed awkwardly. "There's something else I need to tell you…"

Kyle cocked his head, jade green eyes locked on the boy in front of him. "What is it?" he asked slowly, silently begging for what he knew was to come to not come. _Please, if there is a God…_

"We can't see each other anymore." Another round of bullets shot through Kyle's heart. Direct hit. Bam, he was dead. But he didn't fall—no. He kept his head up, but stayed silent, not daring to open his mouth, afraid of the words that would come out. Stan stood up, patting Kyle's shoulder as he passed by him. "I have to go meet Wendy for the wedding plans. It's on Saturday. I'll talk to you later." With that, he was gone and Kyle was left in the practically empty little coffee shop with the rude, blue bubble gum chewing waitress.

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry. Not yet anyway. He squeezed the glass of coffee in his hand until it shattered. Shards of glass impaled him, but he failed to notice.

"Hey! You're gonna pay fer that!" The waitress shouted from behind the kitchen counter. Kyle laid down the blood-stained cash and shoved open the doors.

_There is no God._

--

**So how'd you think of that? Did you all get what was going on between Stan and Kyle? That much I tried to make kind of obvious.**


	3. Like Lava in a Volcano

**So I wrote this entire chapter in school, during first, second, and third period. Don't blame me if it's a bit dull—school tends to do that to things! But it's shouldn't be **_**too**_** bad.**

**I hope.**

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Like Lava in a Volcano

Kyle snapped out of another nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and realized his wrists were no longer tied. He looked around and discovered the door to his 'interrogation' room was left wide open. There was no Cartman in sight.

Kyle began to shakily stand, before sighing and sitting back down again, resting his head on the splintering wooden table in front of him. He messed with a lifted up section of wood. He yanked on it until it lifted smacked his finger. He pulled back quickly, sucking his hurt finger.

Where Cartman was and why he had left him alone was a mystery to Kyle.

The door was open. He could leave any time he wanted to. Then why was he still here?

Kyle sighed again, staring at a newly dyed black bang that had strayed into his face. He frowned. Sure, he could leave, but why should he? Cartman was going to turn him in to the authorities eventually. Was he the bad guy? He felt more like the victim. Who was even the bad guy? Then again, he didn't even know anymore.

"_You have no idea what it feels like to be the victim."_

Kyle's head shot up. He groaned. That voice. It just wouldn't leave him alone! It taunted him, told him it was all his fault, reminded him of an evil deed that he didn't even remember over and over again. Forget… He just wanted to forget…

"_Why would you want to forget me, Kyle?"_

"B-because…you're not real!" Kyle shot back at the voice. He buried his head in his arms in a desperate attempt of hiding.

"_I'm real to you. And I'm _really_ dead," the voice paused in amusement before adding, "also because of you."_

"Go away. Please, just g-go away…" Kyle wanted to cry again, but his tears still refused to come. The walls were closing in on him. The voice was everywhere—it was everything. It was _him_. It was Stan.

"It's not my fault; I-I didn't do it. I didn't!"

"_Do you really believe that, Kyle?"_

A long silence, deafening.

"I have no idea anymore."

--

_Second Monday, Noon_

_The Police Station_

"Why am I here?"

"You should know the answer to that."

"I don't."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what. Stop being stupid and give us answers!"

"To what?"

"Listen, Broflovski, we're trying to help you here! You need to cooperate or you're going to be here a lot longer."

"Why?"

"Because you murdered somebody—that's why!"

"Who?"

"Stanley Marsh."

There was no response. The gruff-looking officer sat back, feeling please with himself. He figured he was getting somewhere, getting through to this thick-headed little wacko. But Kyle was barely fazed. At least, that's how he acted like anyhow.

"Dad, may we go now?" he asked as blankly as he had this entire time.

Kyle's father, posing as his lawyer, put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah, we can go Kyle." He started leading his son away and out of the interrogation room.

The cop sat up and glared at them, slamming his fist on the table. "Fine! Your trial's comin' up, Broflovski. We don't need a motive if we got pure, hard evidence; like that DNA of yours all over the scene!"

Kyle didn't flinch, but his insides clenched. His dad walked on ahead of his son before slowing down and sighing.

"Did…did you really do it, son?" Gerald asked him.

Kyle looked straight ahead, feeling his famous short temper rising to the surface like lava in a volcano. He clenched his fists, unclenched them, let out a breath.

"No."

"But, the evidence—"

"Fuck the evidence! I said I didn't do it! I'm your son. Are you going to believe I murdered my best friend?" Kyle seethed.

"You do tend to get carried away with your temper…"

The younger Broflovski stopped walking. He couldn't hold in his anger, frustration, confusion anymore. "Fuck you, dad." With that, he walked away, nobody daring to follow him.

--

**Yeah, kind of a lame chapter. I'm hoping to be able to show a pattern in my chapter structure or whatever to you all soon. You'll see it! It'll just take another chapter or two!**

**Read and review!:**


	4. Real Nervous

**Alright, alright, pattern shmattern. I did have a slightly different idea on how these chapters were going to go, in what certain order. However, I started this chapter at school and forgot about my pattern, and don't want to rewrite it because I like how it's come out.**

**Sorry! I doubt it will confuse you in any way.**

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Real Nervous

Kyle stood.

"I didn't do it," he stated, more to himself than the outside world. The door was still open. He cautiously walked towards and looked through the doorframe. Dust and wooden furniture filled up most of the cabin he was in.

Upon seeing no sight of Cartman, Kyle carefully made his way to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. This door was the one thing linking him from being locked-up inside this cabin like a wild animal waiting to be put down, and going into the outside world, where he could make his own choices again.

Kyle took a deep breath and shakily let it out. He opened the door and took a step out.

"There he is!"

And back inside the cabin Kyle was shoved.

"What—" A hand cupped over Kyle's mouth to shush him. The other occupant of the room was busy locking the cabin door and nervously peeking out the already shut blinds.

The person holding a hand over Kyle's mouth turned towards him quickly. "Alright, we're safe for now. I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth, but you have to promise to stay quiet. Got it?" Kyle nodded, watching the other oddly. "Good." The hand was taken from his mouth.

Kyle blinked, slowly looked from one person to the other. "What the _hell_ are you guys—mmph!"

The person put a hand over Kyle's mouth again. "I said to be quiet or they'll hear us!" He slowly removed his hand again once the black-haired red-head (if that makes any sense) seemed to of calmed down.

"Who are 'they'?" Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"'They're' everywhere! Who knows who 'they' are?"

Kyle blank-faced. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're here to help!"

Kyle looked from the twitchy blonde to the black-haired weirdo skeptically. "You guys, Craig and Tweek are here to help me?" They nodded. "With what, exactly?"

Craig smiled and put an arm around him. "Keeping that fatass jerk away from you and helping you on the run, of course,"

"You guys are the ones who gave me the ideas to run away in the first place!" Kyle fumed. A lock of black hair drooped into his face and he frowned. "And to dye my hair. How come the cops aren't after you like they are me?"

"Because," Craig started, sitting on a dusty piece of furniture, "we've already been interviewed. We were investigated last week, not long after _it_ happened. After they interviewed you and you ran. Once you ran, sure they sent out a search party, but some detectives convinced their boss to let them investigate everyone else. Witnesses…other possible suspects,"

"I don't see—nng—anybody, Craig." Tweek informed him, moving away the window.

"Good."

It suddenly hit Kyle. "Where is Cartman?" he asked.

Craig half-laughed before smirking deviously. "We killed him." Kyle's eyes widened and his mouth dropped slightly. "Sorry, too soon. We just knocked him out and dumped him in a low-set ditch somewhere in the forest,"

"By the time he gets out—geh—we'll be long gone!" Tweek added, sitting next to Craig.

"Yeah," Craig looked up at the other boy. "So what do you say, Broflovski? Are you going to stay and wait for Cartman to drag you back for a trial you're wrongfully going to lose?"

"Or come with us—neg—and live an…okay—gah!—life?"

He looked from boy to the other, before narrowing his eyes and hesitantly nodding. Craig smiled. Tweek smiled. Kyle tried to. They stood up and Craig patted Kyle on the back, grabbing the bag he dropped once he barged in.

"Let's go."

--

_Second Tuesday, 3pm_

_Craig's House_

Craig grabbed two shirts, his jacket, and two pairs of pants and boxers, shoving them into an emptied out backpack. He dumped in a couple necessities before sitting on it and zipping it up.

The black-haired boy wiped his forehead, sighing. He hopped up and checked his watch impatiently.

"Tweek should be here any time," he said to himself. "We need to hurry. Cartman already left," The doorbell rang and he jumped. "Coming, Tweek!"

Craig ran to the door and opened it. "C'mon, we gotta hurry—uh, hello?" He blinked at the two officers standing stiffly at his door. "C-can I help you?"

The officers nodded. "My name is Detective Julia and this is my partner, Detective Charite. Expecting somebody?" one asked, a woman with tight dirty blonde hair. The other was a man, dark-skinned.

Craig nodded, suddenly feeling nervous and edgy. "Uh, yeah. A, uh, friend of mine."

"Going somewhere?" He nodded silently. "Mind if we come in? This won't take too long." Craig didn't dare hesitate as he stood aside and allowed the partners in crime pass him to casually walk inside and sit on his couch.

Craig didn't ask if they wanted anything. Instead, he worked on calming himself. Everyone got nervous in front of the cops, right? So there was no big deal here, except for the risk of being a suspect through saying the wrong things or acting the wrong way. Okay, so maybe it was a big deal.

"So," Craig started, choosing his words carefully, "what can I help you officers with?"

The male officer looked at him calmly, hands placed in his lap. "We wanted to ask you a few questions about the murder of Stanley Marsh." He paused, making Craig want to pass out from the tension. "Where were you on 11pm Thursday night?"

"I was right here, probably sleeping." The last part was a lie. Since when was the last time he had slept? He, himself, was unsure of that answer. But now wasn't the time to brood about it.

"Any witnesses to legitimize that?" Detective Julia asked.

Craig scratched the back of his head. A habit of his when he became nervous. Real nervous. "Uh, yeah. T-Tweak Tweek,"

Detective Charite raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you were sleeping. What would your friend be doing here with you so late at night?"

"He stayed the night."

"Aren't you a bit old for sleep-overs?"

Craig blushed and coughed into his fist, glancing away slightly. He scratched the back of his head. The two detectives nodded and decided not to press the situation.

"So, were you and Stanley friends?" Detective Julia asked, looking at him with her penetrating grey-blue eyes. He thought she was reading straight through his eyes and scanning his brain.

Craig scowled, almost instantly forgetting who he was speaking to. "No, we weren't friends. I would never hang with that asshole."

"Oh, really? So you and Stanley didn't get along very well?"

"No. That bastard was always slinking around with new people every time I saw him. And every time he got dumped, he would go to his friend, Kyle, and use him until there was nothing left,"

"I see." _No you don't,_ Craig spat in his mind. "Were you aware that Kyle Broflovski and Stanley were in a relationship?"

"What? No," he paused. "Wouldn't surprise me much, though,"

Detective Charite nodded slowly, never taking his cool eyes off of the boy. With both judging eyes trained on his, Craig shifted, scratching the back of his head. "Did you also know that Kyle ran away the other day after we interviewed him? Would you happen to know of his whereabouts?"

Craig pretended to think about it, before looking at the officers, dull blue eyes narrowing. "I dunno. But did _you_ officers know that Eric Cartman also fled South Park?"

The detectives both shook their heads.

"Yeah. That Nazi asshole has done damage in the past. If you guys are so dead-set on Broflovski murdering his super best friend for no reasons, then maybe you should try checking out the resident fatass with a grudge on the poor Jewish kid and bastard hippie." He tried hard to keep his anger in check. "Maybe he _framed _Broflovski."

"What makes you so sure of this?" Detective Julia asked, leaning forward a bit. She thought she was getting somewhere.

Craig shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. I just put the pieces of the puzzle together. It's just a thought. I could be wrong,"

They nodded and finally stood up. "Alright, Mr. Tucker—"

"Craig. Please, call me Craig. Mr. Tucker is my father." He forced a smile, trying to scare off some of the tension. "I hated my father."

The detectives smiled and shook Craig's hand. "Alright, Craig," Detective Charite started, "that'll be all for now." There was a knock at the door. Craig walked over to it to allow the officers to leave and say their 'hellos' to the person at the door. When they were gone, the raven-haired boy turned a relieved, yet nervous, face to the other boy.

"Tweek! What took you so long?!" Craig asked, grabbing his twitchy friend's shirt and yanking him inside.

"Sorry, Craig! My parents made me—nng—go out and get more coffee. What were the—gah!—cops doing here?!" Tweek asked, eyes widened.

Craig frowned. "They were just asking me about Kyle and Stan and stuff. I don't they suspect me or you for anything, though," He looked down. "Did you bring your bag?" Tweek held his small bag up, nodding. "Good." He walked down the hall to his room, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He pecked Tweek on the lips.

"Now let's go out and find Broflovski before he gets himself into any more trouble." Craig smiled, grabbing Tweek's hand and leading him to the door.

--

**I know I mentioned Craig scratching his head many times, but that was the point to show how nervous he was. Everyone gets nervous when the cops are around, whether they're guilty or not. As for Craig, I dropped some misleading hints…**

**So, who thinks Craig (and maybe Tweek) did it? Review it!**


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